A Reason To Fight
Lounge/Observation Room Converted from an unused medical observation room, the lounge still offers a view of the Repair Bay through a one-way plexisteel mirror that encompasses almost half of the east wall. Sound, too, is transmitted from the Repair Bay, allowing the friends of the injured to see and hear what's going on without distracting the medics from their delicate work. More than that, it's also a place to rest and relax, furnished with comfortable chairs, various video feeds of both Terran and Cybertronian style entertainment, and an automated bar dispensing energon for those who want to relax with some refreshments. Stalking into the room, Hardhead wears a particular grim scowl as he makes his way towards the replicator, he harshly pushes buttons to order himself a hi-grade...dirty. After a moment, he takes his drink, slowly turning to scan the room. Maybe seeing if there is someone to sit with...or more likely someone to avoid. Sitting alone at a corner booth is the newbie at the base. She hates, that, being the newbie. Oh sure, there's a lot of military details she doesn't know - who to call sir, how to salute, the finer details of what's justified and what's not - and there's the advancement of skill and refinement of combat prowess that only millions of years of warfare can provide, but she's treated as if she were ignorant. Rolled right off the assembly line. That everything she's done for herself should be thrown out the window, or isn't worth cleaning tires on - because it wasn't done specifically for the Autobot cause. So far Shiftlock has been silent about it, trying to prove her capacities through deeds and not words, but there are times when the words come out, and those words are making more enemies than friends. She has a bottle of something truly vicious in front of her and a single small glass cube to pour shots into. She's quiet. Looking through the crowd, Hardhead looks at a 'Mech who waves at him. Nodding back, he doesn't move towards the Gumby 'Mech. He looks over at a group of Medics sitting between shifts. "Hnnnn..." He mumbles as he continues to scan, Another couple of 'Mechs playing some kind of card game. Pass. Finally, his optic bar locates on Shiftlock and her corner booth. Pausing, his optics scan the particularly potent bottle, causing his scowl to deepen. He starts to move out, but hitches in his stride. For a long moment, he seems frozen in step. His face slack, all emotion drained. "Fine." He mumbles to himself, before turning back towards Shiftlock. Slowly, Hardhead makes his way towards Shiftlock's Booth. Most 'Mechs would ask for permission to sit, but not Hardhead. He just slides into the opposite booth side, setting down his own drink. Looking dead at her, Hardhead opens his mouth speaking very mechanically, "You shouldn't drink that stuff alone..." He tilts his head to the side before continuing. "So. What is on your processor." Hardhead states plainly and directly, turning a question nearly into a statement. "I always drink this stuff alone," Shiftlock calmly replies, pouring a shot into the glass. The golden ultra-refined fuel gives off a soft glow that casts an eerie warm light across the metal table. She doesn't seem to mind at all that Hardhead is here at all. By the tiniest curve to her lips, she might even be thought to find his presence welcome. She's fresh off more patches, paint still offcolor as it hardens and sets, and despite the good work of the medics she still carries the smell of explosives and smoke. Picking up the shot, she puts it to her bicolor lips and knocks it back, setting it down on the table with a *tak* of glass on metal, shuttering her optics as the engex kicks in. Her engine revs audibly, an sudden, intense noise that bleeds out past the normal sounds of Cybertronian internals, before dropping back down into neutral. "Trying to adjust. They're not fond of former neutrals." Nodding curtly at her response to his question, Hardhead watches her take her drink, his optic bar watching as the liquid slips past her lips until there is nothing left. Hardhead maintains his posture, conveying nothing through his body language. Taking a moment, Hardhead finally focuses on Shiftlock, studying her for a moment as her engine revving fills the booth with sound. After the sound dies back down, Hardhead speaks again, "I have read the reports. You have acquitted yourself well in battle." He then points towards her patches of uncolored paint with his drink glass. "You should really have your paint job completed." He says before draining his own drink. His own optic bar flickers as the Hi-Grade Energon rushes through his systems. "I assume, you are speaking of the Autobots and their view of neutrals?" Hardhead asks softly. "Is that way you are alone? Because we are not fond of you? Or Because you still hold yourself apart..." His voice trails off as he points at the bottle. "May I?" He asks without grabbing at the bottle. "Help yourself," Shiftlock says, sliding the bottle over to Hardhead. "No point in worrying about paint when it just gets burned or scraped off every time you go out. Seems like an exercise in futility to keep painting it." She leans back in the booth, comfortable, staring at the wall, staring through it, looking at everything and nothing in particular. "There are attitudes I have I haven't given up just because I'm wearing a red badge. There are parts of me, beliefs I have, that will not change. The Decepticons couldn't take them away from me. Neither can the Autobots." Taking the bottle, Hardhead pours himself a couple of fingers, placing the bottle back on the table. Sliding it back over to Shiftlock. Taking his freshly poured glass in his right hand, he stares at for a moment, looking at Shiftlock through the liquid as she speaks again. "It is futile." He states as he then downs the drink, his own engine makes a deep rumble, as his optics shut off for a moment. His engine then stops roaring, and his optics flicker back on as he looks over at Shiftlock. "You get painted because it gives others hope. Most Autobots aren't fighters. They need hope to keep them going. If, we are damaged and battered and unpainted, it reminds the others that we aren't winning. That maybe the Decepticons are unstoppable." "Beliefs?" Hardhead studies her for a moment, "I have heard that everyone has to compromise sometime..." He shrugs up his shoulders and leans back. "Never took with me though...until now, I guess." He looks back at her, "What are you afraid of losing?" "I've lost everything already," Shiftlock says, as she pours herself another shot. "Not that I had anything to begin with, other than a handful of rebels I was looking out for." "So what are you compromising? I didn't think Autobots compromised much of anything - except out of conscious choice." "Lost comrades can stay with you forever...." Hardhead says softly. Placing his hands on the table, Hardhead looks at her for a long moment. "Autobots are..." Hardhead frowns as if searching for a word, "Misguided..." He lowers his head for a long moment, his voice growing slightly warmer and almost organic. "Autobots believe you can fight a war with morales. Believe that all this fighting and killing doesn't destroy your soul..." Frowning, Hardhead looks at her. "Or Spark or Lasercore." He says this time more organically. "Most Autobots have compromised their morality and it weighs on them." Hardhead places his hands together, "Duros, the Nebulan inside my head, compromised his vow of marriage and his vows to his family in order to join our fight." Hardhead shrugs, "For myself, Hardhead, I have not compromised anything, because I never had anything to compromise on. I fight where they tell me. I kill who they tell me. I'll die when they me...But then one cycle." He opens his right hand towards Shiftlock. "One cycle, I just gave up. I didn't care. I was just there...that is when Fortress Maximus took me with him...." Hardhead frowns. "Now I live for Duros...I guess. So I compromised my entire person, in order to incorporate another..." Shiftlock listens, noting how the tone of voice, the demeanor, and the choice of words shifts back and forth. She grasps immediately that this is the tradeoff between Nebulan and Cybertronian, the shared link and shared being of two completely different life forms. She could pick them out by tone and phrasing alone now. "If there's a good form of compromise, I think you found it," she posits, taking another shot of engex. She shudders and lets the fuel hit her a second time, but she doesn't seem to be compromised or even beginning to get drunk. She's capable of enduring more than she lets on. "Morals are the only thing worth holding onto, because there will be a day when this war is over. There will be a day when one side side surrenders, or dies, and then the real struggle begins - picking up the pieces. Trying to live again. Trying to remember what life was like before all of this started. Trying to forget the screams of the dying and all the graves with treasured names carved into their memorials. Trying to forget all the graves of the enemies you killed." "They aren't looking at that, dammit!" She slams her glass down onto the table. "It's like they think this is going to go on forever, like they WANT this endless, destructive, civilization-destroying war to continue! No one's thinking about preserving the neutrals - the ones that haven't tasted this evil - no, they want to gang press them into service!" Shrugging ever so slightly. "Oddly enough, I am the anomaly. Most 'Masters don't function as well as Duros and I." Watching Shiftlock, Hardhead notices that her cody language does not betray any signs or effects of the engex. Frowning as he listens to her words, "The pieces...I don't think my family will ever be whole again. But if they can be free and safe..." Hardhead voice starts warm and then drifts cold again. "I have no place after the war." Hardhead seems calm as he states that fact. "I know I won't forget the screams, the joy of vanquishing an enemy, and I might even keep that guilty joy of surviving with me." He tilts his head as she describes the fall of the neutrals and the memorials. "Gang Press?" Frowning, Hardhead seems to mull the words. "I never saw it that way. I hardly ever remember being neutral. I just joined, no, I joined because they did." Frowning. "Huh, I had forgotten that...it was so long." Stopping, Hardhead looks at Shiftlock. "Preserving the neutrals. Is such a thing possible? The Decepticons will oppress them if they win, if the Autobots win, they should be free...but how can the Autobots win without more mech-power?" "And that," Shiftlock says, "is what is bothering me." She rolls the shotglass in her fingers. "I refused to take a side, originally, because I have seen what war does to you. It changes you. It's a threshhold that, once crossed, you can never return from. You will do things, you will see things, that will leave you... different. Maybe not for the better." Her transformation plates slide back partially and expose vents for her air-breathing engine. She sighs out the heat that is growing inside her. "The Decepticons take. The Autobots need -- but eventually, those who refuse to fight, who just want to live and preserve what fragments of Cybertronian civilization are left, will be swallowed up no matter which mouth they fall into." Staring coldly at Shiftlock. "War doesn't change you. It kills you. That is what the others don't understand. We are already dead." Frowning, "Although not all of me believes that..." "That is the price of freedom." Hardhead states. "The Eartherns have a saying about a 'Tree of Liberty'...Ours seems to be very thirsty." Frowning, "I am not sure what is even left of our Civilization, and you are right, our war is consuming all of us." Hardhead places both his hands on the side of his head, "But maybe, if enough of us pay the price....the future won't have to fight this war again." "I will be honest, Shiftlock. You are the first neutral I have met in a long time...I didn't even know that many of y'all were left." Shiftlock laughs, but it's not a happy laugh. It's a bitter one. "I'm already dead," she iterates. "You get it.'' I'm already dead." Reaching out to place a hand on her shoulder, Hardhead hesitates for a moment, his hand hitting the table. "We are both dead..." He draws back, "Duros says we have to find hope again..." His voice coldly trails off. "I should have talked to you sooner. You really do get it," Shiftlock smiles. It's an empty smile. "I wanted to protect Crystal City." Her voice is weaker. She sounds tired. She sounds like she's watching the light going out of someone's eyes. "It was... it had our civilization. For awhile, it was free. It had culture, art, science, politics, music... It wasn't perfect, but it was still there. It was a little seed of hope for the future." Her smile quickly fades, and her voice takes on an acid edge. "Until the Decepticons finally game. They've already killed that city. There's going to be nothing left to salvage that isn't eaten by the rust of prolonged conflict. The other rebels..." She trails off. No comfort comes from the empty smile, but Hardhead returns the smile with one of his own, equally empty, except at the last moment where it relaxes into an almost organic smile. Quickly it fades off into a scowl as he listens again. "Crystal City...was the pinnacle of our Civilization. I never saw it at his height." Hardhead shrugs again, "I'm from Tarn." He sighs, "The Decepticons destroy everything they touch...which included us, though we don't move the meter much..." He looks at her, "Perhaps your new goal should be to preserve the memory of Crystal City and one cycle see its rebirth." "How foolish of me, you still have comrades, friends, maybe even more in the rebels...Tell me, do you think you have abandoned them?" "I've done worse. I've betrayed them," Shiftlock morosely states. "Some of them, they had the will to fight, you know? Some even had the skills. Most... they don't. They just happened to be on the wrong end of Decepticon 'justice'. They ran for their lives, going underground, trying to change their alt-modes and paintjobs and names." "I was already living down there, so I started teaching them how to survive. I tried to take what little I knew, and help those who had never raised a fist, try to fight back." "... I tried so hard to help them survive, but in the end, all I did was doom them. I taught them the very thing I hated. The thing I've willingly sold my spark to." Holding up one finger, Hardhead shakes his finger no at her, "Shiftlock...I understand. But you did not doom them, you gave them power...you gave them a chance." He lowers his finger. "Perhaps the slimmest of chances. But they would be dead either way...and the Decepticons have things worse than death..." "But I understand, that guilt, that pain. It will never go away. First time I ordered a 'Mech to his death, I never forgot him or that day." Hardhead sighs, "We are all doomed. Fighting is the only way to ensure some may not be dead..." Frowning, "But I never contemplated who would be left...It is a disturbing train of thought..." He shakes his head. "I am glad you shared with me." "This is why I decided to join the Bots," Shiftlock says, pouring another shot. "I want to protect them. I want to protect what's left of our civilization, because when it comes down to it, being a Neutral is the hardest position of all to take - to stand against both sides and say 'no'." "It's also the greatest freedom - because you can say that 'no' to both sides, and take any path you choose." The little smile returns, but this time, it's more genuine. "I can take a lot of punishment, Hardhead, Duros, and I know I'm strong. I'm strong enough to drink down all the evil of war, and I have decided to willingly give myself up to that fate, so that I can shield those rare, few, untainted pieces of our civilization from '''both' sides. I sold my freedom... for theirs. For that hope of a future." "I am sorry it has come to this Shiftlock. But that is because we have failed..." Hardhead sighs, "Perhaps, you shall change that." "No to both sides..." Hardhead nods his head as he listens to her speak again. "You are strong..." He nods firmly. "But the evil of war is a deep pit and will eventually erode even the stoutest among all of us." "I applaud your goal as it is noble, and ultimately our job." He gestures broadly, "For all Autobot Soldiers. But I regret to inform you, not many Autobots will understand this position. Most don't want to because, they don't want to see themselves as lost." He lowers his hands, "But keeping yourself separate and alone...isn't the way." Hardhead smiles faintly. "That path leads you to the barracks staring at your Shatterblaster, wondering how much it would actually hurt...to put it against your head..." He looks away as if ashamed. Shiftlock looks at Hardhead for a moment. She doesn't ask permission. Reaching out, she places her arms around Hardhead and draws him closer, leaning in, and embraces him. It's a very female thing to do, and last time anyone checked, Shiftlock was female. She attempts to bring comfort in the only way she knows how - through proximity, through contact, through consolation, risking being shoved away, or worse. "Being a hero," she says softly, "means carrying the weight of everyone you see around you on your shoulders. Sometimes, your shoulders get tired... so when you need it... roll that burden onto me." Hardhead's face twists for a moment as Shiftlock moves to attack? slap? Wait... Hug? Unsure what to do, Hardhead seems stiff for a moment, but after a moment, he seems to relax, his metallic joints seem to move into a warm hug in return, as if some memory of a hug moved through his systems, starting with his head and finally moving to his feet. "I am just a man..." He says softly before correcting into his more mechanical tones, his body going stiff, ridged again. "Thank you." He says stiffly. He seems to pause to continue. "When your shoulders get tired...please find me...." His voice starts then stops. "You will need a friend too..." His voice sounds natural, almost whole. Shiftlock releases Hardhead from her embrace, patting him on the shoulder gently, before looking back at her drink. "I will. I think I will." Nodding, "Please do come by. Duros worries that I don't have friends. And you are the first sane person I have talked to in a while." Hardhead says firmly.